Bath time has always been filled with laughter and bubbles. Mixing soap and glitter, fabricating concoctions, everything and anything we could get our little hands on and into our witches’ cauldron from an array of bath gels. Spiking our hair to the tallest peaks we could under a generous lather and laughing as it slopped to one side. The relationship with bath time changed as we grew, but the bubbles always accompanied me. It’s only now that I realize how much time we actually spend in the shower and how a thing so mundane has been left out of thought. 

        These beautiful words and experiences did not shape the ideology and reason behind making them, but what a story to sell as a brand. Though what truly inspired us was much simpler than that. Not clearly remembering how we came across the book but remembering rediscovering it in my sister’s library of books and thinking how fun it would be. Convincing her that this would be a super fun, super cool project for us to do. It all started with a passing thought. One that took a while before anything came of it. 

        Whenever a new project started, we indulged ourselves in fantasy of the perfect brand, the perfect scenario, the perfect shape. All before the ink hit the paper. We spent what seemed to be hours that turned into days just talking about ‘the concept’. Somewhere along the way the idea of fun replaced the act of fun. And it kept living in our heads. Realizing it wasn't as simple as it looked and that making them required a tiny bit of research as to where to get the materials. It was 2013, and we had zero clue where to even get sodium hydroxide. Never laid eyes on it except in science class. A mix of procrastination and a lack of priorities made slow progress on our exciting project. The arrival of a 1000 ml beaker and 1 kg of sodium hydroxide to our doorstep catapulted our momentum as it became real. Something about having a tangible object brought down the barriers and made it easier to progress. 

        The book came with warnings. There were serious safety measures when dealing with chemicals. Making lye (sodium hydroxide flakes + water) was serious business that took us an entire hour. With our gloves on, masks on, and glasses, slowly mixing in the flakes, turning on our exhaust hood in a well-ventilated place and making sure it didn’t burn us was all exciting, scary and annoying. We had picked the simplest and easiest soap bar to make just using three oils: olive, palm and coconut. Simple, no fuss, easy. Or so we thought. Step 1: Lye. Done. Step 2: Oils. Done. Step 3: Blend. Half done? Why isn’t it blending? Why is it hot? Why is it heavy? Rereading the instructions and wondering what the hell is happening. Finally reaching trace seemed like the biggest success only for it to seize the next minute. What was expected to be a beautiful pour into a makeshift recycled milk carton became a scoop-it-out-and-dump-it situation, but nonetheless, we had made our first cold process soap. The only thing left was patience, as it cured and dried over the next weeks.

        We regularly revisit making soap, but it has never stuck quite well. Periods of intense interest paired with droughts of motivation. I soon dove into formulating recipes, and got into a real principle of not using palm oil. Trying to find alternatives and suppliers drained a bit of the fun but again the idea of having our own soap and how we can grow and make a brand was fun, it was always living on the sidelines. My sister wanted soap that’s nice to hold and we played around with different ideas, shapes and sizes (in our heads) and unanimously chose a half circle as the best geometric answer for our nonexistent brand. Now the question was how. We tried makeshift pipes and liners with rubber bands. Asked a craftsman to make a mold out of wood, none of which gave us the soap we imagined. Getting frustrated with our (very minimal) tries, we went back to the drawing board.

        Let’s keep it simple, let’s get the formulation down and worry about shapes another time. Keeping it square in standard molds and getting the hang of mixing and reaching trace. Exploring 100% olive oil soaps, using milk and beer, coffee grounds, essential oils. It became my own little witches’ cauldron. Wanting to learn more, we took a cold process course. It was clear at this point that I would handle the formulations and my sister would design the look, having friends bring over mica all the way from the States. Our soaps became soft hues of olive, purple, pink and blue with a stable lather, no palm oil, unscented and natural. As our curing and drying rack became overflowing with colored squares, we moved into the garage and made it our holding place. We gifted fully cured soaps to friends and family, who came back with praise and affirmations of our delicate soap. The brand was there, the recipe was there, the equipment there but having done all that we never sold. I can't say whether it was a lack of interest, consistency, exposure or straight up laziness, but we never launched. We just kept giving them away, perfecting our ideas and never feeling ready. 

        Soon the equipment was boxed and neatly tucked away in our garage. The few instances of rearranging the house or mom’s occasional garage cleaning brought the box right in front of my face. Sometimes igniting the spark once more and coming back to making two or three batches of my favorite recipes, sharing them with friends or sometimes filling me with a sense of guilt, a reminder of yet another hobby abandoned on a whim. It’s a flip of a coin. Despite having it jarringly placed in front of us, we never took the leap and the brand remains on a list of half-executed dreams. Moved islands and brought along the essential equipment with my sister’s encouragement to keep making more. Thinking I’d have the space and time, only to find out that I have space in my drawer for it to collect dust yet again. Something to do for another time.